


My Demons Sing for You

by BlackLikeMyHeart



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Draco Malfoy Feels, Draco Malfoy Needs a Hug, Established Relationship, Fluff, Harry Potter Will Give Him One, Harry Potter is a Good Boyfriend, Hurt Draco Malfoy, M/M, Sectumsempra Scars
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-10
Updated: 2017-05-10
Packaged: 2018-10-30 04:26:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,749
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10869090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlackLikeMyHeart/pseuds/BlackLikeMyHeart
Summary: “I love you."This, Harry’s declaration—much like the denial of his friendship years ago, he never saw this coming.





	My Demons Sing for You

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to anyone reading! I've loved these two idiots for years, and I can't believe I'm just now writing about them. This is my first fanfiction, so I hope I got them right and do them justice. 
> 
> *Disclaimer: These characters and this world do not belong to me. I'm just playing around with what J.K. Rowling has gifted us.

“Sometimes, I still dream about hurting you.”

  
He draws his fingers through his hair, eyes inevitably falling on the unruly bed head his partner sports, made even more unruly because he couldn’t keep his fingers out of it when he’d pressed him into the bed, mouthed at his throat, and thrust inside him.

  
Wide green eyes blink at him owlishly, but there’s no surprise in their depths; he always looks at him like that. A wide gaze that at once seems to read his every thought and action, yet also remains blissfully clueless to the demons swimming in the sea of his mind. He wonders which is true. He’d like to believe he’s terrifyingly mysterious but always feels as if he’s an open book around this fool he can’t bring himself to stay away from.

  
“How come you never do?” The words are soft and spoken against the skin of his wrist, twisted as it is underneath his partner’s neck. Hot breath slips out with them to caress his flesh, and he shivers, from the cold, from unease, from the insatiable desire still swirling in his veins, he couldn’t say. “I’ve already marked you.” A single finger trails down his chest, tracing the ugly white scar that runs from his left shoulder to his right hip.

  
He can’t help the snort that falls from his lips as he pushes the hand away, suppressing the curl of unease at anyone touching that part of him, even the one who put it there.

  
“I’d hardly call this your mark. You didn’t even know it would happen. Or was that a lie you’ve been telling all this time, hmm?” He shifts on the bed, pulling his arm out from underneath his partner to turn and straddle him, pinning his hands above his head, binding his wrists in a tight grip. “Did you really mean to kill me?” he hisses.

Now he looks at him with surprise in his eyes, face suddenly pink and expression flustered, as he splutters a quick response. “Of course not!” So indignant, so ashamed. He’s a mix of emotions, and a little part of him is pleased, curls in delight at being able to cause such a reaction. It soothes the beast inside always begging for pain, quiets the voice in his head to something manageable, for the moment. Being with him always does. Being with Harry.

  
Harry’s looking off to the side now, lower lip clasped between his teeth and being chewed red. Long, pale fingers reach out to grasp his chin, pull that sweet lip from the cruel trap, and turn Harry’s head so their eyes meet.

  
“I hurt you then.” It’s bold, blunt, and exactly like the stupid Gryffindor to say. “I’m going to take care of you now. Draco.” There’s too much sentiment and care in the words, dripping in his voice. He can’t stand it. He hates it.

  
Draco swoops down to cover Harry’s mouth with his own, so he doesn’t have to hear him say such foolish things in such an earnest manner. He bites his lips in the kiss, pulls at his flesh and sucks harshly on his tongue, devouring Harry’s mouth as if he can devour all the words he knows he’ll speak. Words that he knows will hurt him.

  
Harry is the only one, other than his father, who can hurt Draco with just words. In anyone else’s hands, they’re pitiful little raindrops that slide off his skin as soon as they touch. He wishes he could brush Harry’s words off quite so easily.

  
When he pulls away, he notices the red of Harry’s swollen lips before he notices the blood. A thrill goes through him at the sight of it, the little drop beading on his lip where Draco bit too harshly, loved too roughly.

  
He’s not made for something like this.

  
The thrill is chased away by disgust, and Draco moves to stand, needing to do something other than push Harry further into the bed and wreck him.

  
Before he can, Harry’s released hands are flying to grab his wrist now, a single thumb brushing gently over the delicate skin covering his veins. The drop of blood is gone, and Draco shudders against the desire that slams into him, the desire to cause more pain, to draw more blood, to take more than Harry could ever hope to be able to give.

“I love you.”

  
Draco freezes. His blood is ice in his veins, his limbs are sluggish, and he can feel his expression going cold. Harry has never said those words before, and Draco has certainly never said them to him, though he has thought them sometimes, in a state that felt like dreaming, when he had Harry’s warm body pressed against his, safe in his arms, with the world somewhere far away. He can’t look at Harry, can’t meet those open and vulnerable eyes. His inclination to destroy wells up in him and with it poison bubbles in his mouth, looking for an opening to unleash itself on the world, on Harry.

  
Draco can’t decide if he wants to do that, keeps his eyes trained on a scuff against the wall, unfocused and unseeing. He doesn’t know where to go from here, doesn’t know what to say. Very few moments in Draco’s life have instilled him with fear, barring the events of his 6th and 7th years which run together into a nightmare that he prefers to remember as just such, a nightmare. This, Harry’s declaration—much like the denial of his friendship years ago, he never saw this coming.

  
“If you don’t love me…” Harry trails off, but his voice in the absolute silence that had just infused Draco’s mind moments earlier causes Draco to startle violently. He pulls away from Harry’s hand and stares at him, unsure of the expression on his own face. Whatever it is, it causes Harry to withdraw his hand, though he doesn’t turn away. No, silly Gryffindor that he is. “If you don’t love me, that’s okay. I know this was never meant to be…that. We can still just be friends that fuck.”

  
His voice is sincere, but Draco can tell he doesn’t really want that. Harry will do it, Merlin, sometimes Draco thinks Harry would do anything for him, and that’s a power trip he doesn’t need. But Draco doesn’t want that, to go back.

  
“We’ve never just been friends that fuck.” Too close, Harry is too close to him. Sliding to the edge of the bed, Draco slips his feet out from the covers and onto the cold floor, his back to Harry. Mechanically, he rests his head in his hands, the weight of it suddenly too much for his shoulders alone.

  
A long moment passes, he thinks, before a warm hand is sliding up his back to clasp his shoulder, loose and uncertain.

  
“I think about you all the time. More than I dream about hurting you. I think about your voice and your smile. I think about you telling me about your day and nagging me to be nicer to your dull friends.” He injects levity into the words to make certain Harry doesn’t think he actually minds his friends too much. The last thing he needs is to start Harry in on one of those rants again. “I think about you in the kitchen cooking and lazing about in the sunspots on my floor like a cat.” He swallows hard. “I think about you naked in my bed, and I can’t imagine hurting you. Ever.”

  
Sometime during his speech, his hand had come up to cling desperately to Harry’s hand against his shoulder, pinning it there and silently begging him not to move. Soft lips graze against the nape of his neck, and another hand is suddenly resting on his bare shoulder before Harry’s chest is pressed against him. “You can dream about something without it coming true you know. Just because you dream it doesn’t make it reality.”

  
Draco knows this, of course he does. But there are demons in his head and living in his skin, and sometimes, what he does isn’t enough to purge them. Sometimes, they want pieces of Harry too.

  
“Let them have me.”

  
Draco jerks his head around to look at Harry, not even caring that he had spoken aloud, too gobsmacked at Harry’s response. His damned unruly hair is falling into his eyes, but his mouth is set in that way Draco knows only too well. And he knows he’d rather die than let that happen.

  
“Shut up, Potter.” Before Harry can speak—and he’s going to, because that mouth is already opening—Draco pushes him down and hovers over him once again, tracing his fingers down that jawline and following the movements all with his eyes. He hasn’t even done anything, not really, but Harry’s chest is heaving beneath him as if they’ve just finished another round in the sheets, and Draco can’t help but smirk at him for a moment before getting serious. “If I gave those demons even a piece of you, they’d never shut up. They’d want another bite, and another, until I’d swallowed you whole. I like you too much to let that happen.”

  
Just as a light had begun to burn in Harry’s eyes, it dims, and Draco grips his chin harshly, pulling Harry’s head up off the bed a bit, leaning forward to meet him.  
“I love you too much to let that happen, you git.” And there is the smile, the adoration that Draco wanted to see, Harry looking at him like he’s just given him the world. “So I’ll go on dreaming about it, and hunting down monsters to feed my demons, and if I ever, ever hurt you, you’ll tell me about it.”

  
He lets go of Harry’s chin and the idiot just lets his head fall back to the bed, grinning up at Draco like a fool. A fool deep in love. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll tell you about it.”

Draco’s eyes narrow, and he clicks his tongue. “You’re an idiot.”

  
“But you love me.” And his voice is so soft, the words so sacred on his tongue. Draco doesn’t deign to respond, just smothers Harry’s lips with his own. His demons peek and poke, but Draco keeps them leashed and chained. They fed earlier. They’re not going to touch his Harry.

  
A smirk curls his lips. He likes the sound of that.

  
_His_ Harry.


End file.
